


Best Part of Waking Up

by alexavindr (orphan_account)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe - Domestic, Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Arguing, Caffeine Addiction, Charles Is a Big Dorkface, Coffee, Erik Logic Is The Best Logic, Erik is a Health Nut, Humor, M/M, Moving In Together, Swearing, lots of swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-01
Updated: 2016-07-01
Packaged: 2018-07-19 09:22:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7355209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/alexavindr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik replaces Charles' cow milk that he uses for his coffee with almond milk.</p><p>Charles is <i>not</i> on board.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Best Part of Waking Up

**Author's Note:**

> I came up with this idea right after I had to resort to putting almond milk in _my_ coffee, and HOT DAMN SONNY BOY DO I GOT NEWS FOR YOU _IT TASTES **SOOOOO** BAD_
> 
> I immediately had to write a fanfiction about it because, you know, I was inspired by how bad almond milk tastes??? It really was terrible, and I wish I could like it, because that's all that's in my house right now.
> 
> **WARNING: EXTREME OVER-EXAGGERATION IT'S NOT AS BAD AS I MAKE IT OUT TO BE IN THIS FIC**

Coffee. It's the one thing that gets Charles up, the one thing that keeps him sane, the one thing that can turn him from a raging monster to a calm, level-headed human being who won't slaughter someone for so much as uttering a syllable in his direction.

Sure, Charles _could_ go without coffee —maybe—but it's safest not to. Erik has, since they started dating, tried to wean him off of it and make him switch to tea, and it works, sometimes, but while Charles enjoys tea like no other person in the United States in the _afternoon,_ it doesn't provide the necessary boost of energy to get him going. Erik, ever the health fanatic, has tried dozens of alternatives, right down to drinking _coconut oil._

His boyfriend is a fucking maniac, and that's not just for thinking he can replace Charles' coffee with something else entirely. He's constantly trying to get Charles to jog, take dietary supplements, stretch for ten minutes after grading papers for thirty. Charles _tries,_ but he _tires._ It's product of growing up lavishly; he's never really had to do anything in order to get what he wants. And honestly, he's never cared about being super fit. 

Maybe he has a little bit of extra weight in his thighs, but who _cares,_ they're not the ones who make the choice to get rid of it.

Erik's made it clear that _no,_ Charles isn't fat, and _no,_ Charles isn't unattractive because he doesn't look like Erik—who, by the way, is a Greek _god,_ how did Charles get so _lucky—_ but Erik says he wants Charles to stick around for a while, and eating less gluten might increase his longevity. 

Charles tries just for that statement alone, because that's about as romantic as Erik can get without going full candlelit-dinner-followed-by-hours-of-mind-blowing-sex levels of romantic. Which he's done before, and Charles feels somewhat spoiled.

Ever since Erik moved in three months ago, things have been a little different. First, there's getting used to different furniture. For example, there's an unfamiliar dip in the bed from Erik's body using the space for ten years, and whenever Erik gets up with Charles still in it, he falls into the divot while he's still asleep—and sometimes when he's not, resulting in student's essays being smashed by the weight of Charles' hand instinctively shooting out to catch his fall.  


Then there's learning how to deal with each others' levels of neatness—Erik's being _off the charts,_ and Charles'...not so much. Erik actually tried to incentivize Charles picking up his clothes like he was a fucking _child._ If Charles left anything on the ground in the bedroom, Erik explained, he had to blow Erik. If Erik left anything on the floor, he had to blow Charles. 

(Joke's on Erik, though, Charles enjoys _both.)_  


All in all, it's the normal things most couples have to go through when they first move in together...the one thing that Charles would never think he'd have to adjust to, though, is what goes in the fridge. 

For a person who buys food based off of necessity rather than the nutrition facts, seeing gluten free bread—which is only edible when toasted, actually making Charles feel more privileged for finding an it inconvenience to make a goddamn sandwich at 12:30 in the morning—and _chia seeds_ is almost alarming. He isn't even sure how half of the stuff is _pronounced,_ much less what it is. 

Charles knows that Erik's not going to change his entire lifestyle for the sake of him being able to cope with their grocery bill—apparently Whole Foods can make a person with a _trust fund_ flinch at their prices—but, even though he knows this full well, there are some key things in Charles' daily routine that _cannot budge within an inch of its life._

And that is simply milk for his morning coffee.

Not soy milk, hemp milk, goat milk, fucking _cashew_ milk; no. Regular, _fattening_ cow's milk that might end up giving Charles some type of disease or cancer in the next twenty years. (Basically anything gives you cancer, according to Erik. Charles just sips his coffee and mentally makes his bucket list.) 

But, _oh boy,_ someone _apparently_ didn't listen.

"Where the _fuck_ is the milk?" shouts Charles after two minutes of rifling through every nook and cranny of the refrigerator. It's 7:30 in the morning, he has class in an hour, and he barely got any sleep last night, mostly because of Erik's goddamn _"_ _sleep music"_ thing that really just sounds like static on a television, and it doesn't help Charles sleep at all.  


Erik appears drowsily in the doorway of their bedroom. "Mmph?" Charles takes a split-second to soak in how adorable Erik looks when he's sleepy, with his eyes sagging and movements slow and his hair mussed up. But the moment's gone when Charles' body reminds him of his insatiable _need._

"The milk," Charles growls, "where is it."

Erik lumbers over in his sweatpants and hoodie and bends over slowly to check inside the fridge. Drumming his fingers on top of the refrigerator door as he holds it open, Charles waits impatiently for Erik to find it. Doubtful, seeing that Erik could probably fall asleep where he was crouched down, but maybe Charles just missed it or something.  


A small laugh comes from Erik down below. "It was right here," he says, standing up fully with a blue carton. Fooled for a moment, Charles grabs for it blindly—only to read on the carton: _Silk, Almond._

Oh _hell_ no.

"This isn't milk." Charles feels his temper rising inevitably by the second, unavoidable, and he really wishes that Erik would just go back in their room and lock the door so that he won't be subject to Charles' rage. 

"Yes, it is, and it's healthier—"

Charles shakes his head. "No, I don't think you understand what I'm saying." The air suddenly sours, and Erik takes a deep breath, signifying his realization of the fuck-up he's just made. 

Charles, the real Charles inside the beast that's about to be unleashed, tries to look at Erik apologetically. "This comes from a goddamn _nut._ Actual, _fucking_ milk comes from a _cow,_ and if you seriously _fucking_ think I'm going to put this shit in my coffee —"

"Have you even _tried_ it, though?" Erik interjects, another bad decision. Charles glares at him with all the fury in his being. So he's going to play _that_ card. Okay, then.  


"You know what, no, I haven't," Charles says, feigning sweetness. Erik bites the inside of his cheek. Charles screws off the cap, and sees that it hasn't even been opened. _"Hypocrite."_

Erik rolls his eyes. "You know I don't drink any of that type of stuff. I got it for you." With a glance downwards, Charles sees Erik's fingers fiddling with the fabric of his sweatpants. Knowing Erik that means he's nervous, and he's been around Charles without coffee enough times to know that what he's done is inexcusable. "Just drink it, Charles, and I'll get milk later today, okay?"

Charles looks at his boyfriend. Drinking it would mean that he is a) giving in to Erik's stupid health obsessions, and b) consuming something akin to milk mixed with water. But not drinking it would mean his coffee being completely black—against most people's assumptions, he hates sugar in his coffee—and that leaves nothing short of an awful taste in Charles' mouth for the rest of the day, and by definition, Erik's mouth as well.

Which Charles could use to his advantage, if he wants. Petty revenge or no revenge, that's what Charles can choose. (There's probably other options, but he hasn't had his _coffee yet,_ so he doesn't have the brainpower to think of them.)  


"Fine," he says curtly. He pulls off the tab in the "milk" carton, pours himself a cup of coffee and adds in the almond milk, stirring it in with a spoon. Erik has been watching him the entire time, and Charles makes no effort to make eye contact with him. This experience is obviously not going to be one Charles finds pleasurable, whether or not it tastes good. He'll still have to deal with Erik being a smart ass either way.

Charles takes a deep breath, and raises his cup to his mouth, closing his eyes and licking his lips.  


"Fucking— _hell—"_ he sputters, coughing up the coffee into the sink. It's _awful_. The taste in his mouth is like the Devil himself decided to vomit his leftover Hot Pocket straight onto Charles' tongue. The cup abandon on the kitchen counter, Charles scrubs at his tongue with his cardigan to try and rid himself of the revolting flavor. _Holy hell, I think I'm dying,_ he thinks frantically.  


Life flashing before his eyes and regrets spinning in his head Charles tames his gag reflex enough to turn on the tap to wash out the sickening taste of death from his mouth. 

Charles remembers that the only reason he doesn't just buy coffee at Starbucks or wherever was because Erik says the amount of sugar in them was crazy, and that it's extremely expensive—says the man whose pricey vitamin collection rivals his mother's liquor cabinet—so he just makes his own coffee at home. He's beginning to regret that decision right about now, as his taste buds begin to fall off and his sense of taste is slowly burning away.

"Oh my _God,_ Charles," Erik says—no, the bastard is  _laughing,_ and he's doing a piss-poor job at hiding it. Charles snarls. 

It's one thing for Erik to replace his milk with abhorrent poison. It's _another_ thing entirely to laugh at his resulting horror. _Especially_ if he's going to live in the same space as Charles, tell Charles he loves him, and sleep with Charles in the same bed. It's unacceptable, and Charles won't stand for it.  


The moment Erik's hand touches Charles' back, Charles spins around with the coffee cup in hand, focused on making Erik pay for his sins. "Drink it."

"I don't—"

"Neither do I, but I just did, because you told me to. _Drink. It."_ Charles clenches his teeth and shoves the cup at Erik, who takes it in his hands reluctantly. There's a moment of visible contemplation on Erik's face; like the man has a choice anymore. Charles clears his throat to remind him of that fact.  


So, defeated, Erik tips the mug up to his lips, and takes a sip as well.

The reaction is _extraordinary._

Erik sputters and coughs it into the sink, spitting German expletives and English curses as well. He is only that profane after Charles has either fucked him out of his mind or made him so angry he can barely see straight. Watching him come apart like this, just from almond milk, is one of the best things that's happened to Charles all week.  


When Erik pulls back, his eyes are rimmed red from shutting them so hard.

"That bad?" Charles teases, his bad mood waning as Erik's increases. Erik glares at him. "I _told_ you—" Before he can finish, Erik takes another swig of the death concoction, sets it down, and kisses Charles full on the mouth. Erik winces with the obvious taste of rotting flesh in his mouth, but continues to persist. 

Pettiness wasn't just on Charles' mind, then.

Charles gags at the taste, but reflexively he pulls Erik closer, as he's been doing for the past three years. Erik's tongue is on his own before he can register it making its way past his lips, the residual taste of the almond milk slowly fading away with each swipe against Charles' tongue. Sooner or later, it's just a kiss, the kind of kiss that is almost better than coffee. Perhaps it _is_ better than coffee. Both release dopamine, and both keep Charles and Erik in a relatively good mood. (Coffee being more by association, but still.)  


"Mm," Charles murmurs thickly when they pull apart, drowsy and slowly getting an erection. Erik chuckles, despite his body responding the exact same way. Unfortunately he has to will it away, because he doesn't have time and he can't give Erik the satisfaction of making him forget about Erik's mistake.  


Sometimes Charles has to remind himself he loves the man.

"See, it's not _horrible—"_

_ "It _ tastes like fermented semen. You know what I thought was good." Charles nuzzles his head into Erik's chest, reveling in the scent of his body before his morning run. He smiles and closes his eyes, the familiar smell grounding him for a moment and reminding him who he was pressed up against. "Sorry I yelled. It's just...you know."  


"I do. Um. I'm sorry I made you drink fermented semen," replies Erik dutifully. The smile is obvious in his voice. "We're good, then, right?"  


"Yeah, but I'll also kill you if you don't get three cartons of _cow's milk_ today by the time I get back," says Charles in the same tone. It's not what he would _actually_ do, but it's near close, with Charles not talking to him and ignoring everything he does and falling asleep horizontally on the bed.

Erik smiles and smooths down Charles' hair, then reaches over for the carton of almond milk, inspecting the label. Charles just presses further into his defined pectoral muscles with a smile, until Erik starts to laugh. 

"What?" Charles asks. Erik's covering his mouth with his hand and looks genuinely amused. He continues to chuckle until Charles begins to get annoyed. _"What?"_

"It's—it's expired," he wheezes. "The fucking milk is _expired."_ Charles pushes his boyfriend off of him, grabs his bag, and heads for the door, his stomach threatening to revolt again. "Charles—" Erik begins, still giggling. "No, wait, _Charles—"_  


Charles turns around for a moment to flip him off before he's out the door. He can still hear Erik's laughter through the walls; he briefly wonders about the neighbors, then decides it doesn't matter and he honestly doesn't care.

He's going to fucking Starbucks this morning, caloric intake be _damned._

**Author's Note:**

> I was going to make a pun about almond milk and semen but I decided to spare you ;P


End file.
